


Brighter than the sun

by Eunillul



Series: Phil's obsession, or How Phil recruited Clint. [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Barton is awesome, Fiction fiction fiction, Get Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Non canon compliant, Phil Coulson bamfery, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eunillul/pseuds/Eunillul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes life throws you a curve ball.</p>
<p>Instincts sometimes overthrow reason. </p>
<p>How Clint meets Phil.</p>
<p>I am terrible at summarising, I am sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Franklin

**Author's Note:**

> Randomness from my mind. Canon? What is this canon you speak of?  
> Hopefully not too many typos, this wasn't beta'd, let me know if you find any. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy ^_^
> 
> Also, these characters do not belong to me, seriously they don't, I wish they did.... Anyway, I am not making money from this. This is me disclaiming for the disclaimer.

Clint can't really remember a time when he wasn't in trouble with the law, in some sort of capacity. Whether for stealing, trespassing, assault, and one memorable public indecency charge; he seemed to always be stuck on the wrong side of the law, though most of his 'crimes' were in pursuit of justice, well maybe not justice per say, but he didn't do any of that shit just to spite authorities. Most of the time. The stealing was so that he and Barney could eat, it had been right after they'd run away from the orphanage, but before the circus; the trespassing was for a place to sleep, the assault was because he interrupted a beat-down on some poor scrawny kid. The public indecency had been after the broken up beat-down, after the gang had decided that beating Clint up was just as satisfying as beating the kid up, and when they were done they'd stolen his clothes and left him for dead in the middle of the Chicago winter; Clint had stumbled his way into the first door that opened, that door just happened to lead into a church where a youth group was meeting, not his finest moment. 

After he had explained what had happened and the police found the kid that Clint had saved, and he'd confirmed Clint's story; the police had let Clint go, telling him sternly to call them if something like this were to happen in the future. He had only been 18 at the time, already had a laundry list of petty crimes, and already held the (self proclaimed) title of the world's greatest marksman. Barney had just betrayed him, left him to the 'mercy' of the Swordsman and Trickshot. Clint had nowhere to go, he was a nobody teenager with a lot of attitude and no patience. He didn't have a formal education, couldn't read, and he couldn't sit still long enough to try to learn. 

All he had was his skill with the bow, and maybe he could count determination as a skill; he had been told by lady Althea (the fortune reader) that being called stubborn was just someone acknowledging his determination to accomplish his goals. She had always been his favourite, aside from Barney, but Clint thinks that she may have moved to the top of his list after the fiasco with Barney and his 'mentors'. 

*~*

Clint was now in New York, in the Adirondack park. He is honing his skills by hunting, albeit illegally, in the woods. The trees were providing quite the challenge as Clint tried to hit salamanders 100m away. He is 19, as surly as ever, and he is living off the land while staying off the grid. This land is rich, beautiful and vast; unforgiving, but a perfect place for Clint. He's into his fifth month living in these woods and he has yet to run into anyone; for a place that gets so much tourism for its trails and natural beauty, it is surprisingly easy to keep to himself. 

Until today, just a random day in September, when his run in with a stranger would change his life forever. 

*~*~*~*~*

Phil Coulson is unflappable.

Phil Coulson is a mild mannered government agent.

Phil Coulson is former military.

Phil Coulson is the highest ranking senior agent in SHIELD.

Phil Coulson is also the youngest senior agent, at age 26. He is damn good at his job, he also maybe, perhaps lied to get into the marines at age 15. 

In short Phil Coulson is a cold stone badass who gets his job done. And right now Phil Coulson's job is pissing him off, because Phil's job is to assess and then determine a course of action for one Clinton Barton. Barton is nowhere to be found, and Phil has been looking, oh has he ever been looking. A whole year he's been looking, Phil Coulson is not a very patient man, no matter what his façade has lead people to believe. The reason he advanced so quickly through SHIELD's ranks was because he is not patient, he hates waiting; he gets shit done and he gets shit done fast, his first two years at SHIELD he averaged a case every week and a half (a record by the way, Phil Coulson doesn't do shit by halves). 

He's been at SHIELD for 4 years, and he has spent the entirety of one year searching for; a run away orphan, circus performing teenager. When Phil had graduated early from high school, with an offer to attend Harvard; he had been a teenager, a smart teenager from a middle class family with 5 kids and two hard working parents and no way to afford school. So he'd come up with a plan, join the military and have them pay for school in return for his committing his life to them. In order to accomplish this plan, he'd had to lie to the United States government, the very people he'd committed to; when his C.O had found out (Phil had told him) that Phil was only 15 when he'd enlisted, he was 'dishonourably' discharged. He says 'dishonourably' because it never actually went on his file, he was head hunted by Director Fury himself. And so at age 19, with an undergrad is psychology from Harvard, and 4 years of military training; Phil Coulson had landed himself in one of the most secret government agencies: SHIELD. 

Barton's last confirmed location was Chicago, 10 months ago, where he'd been brought in on public indecency charges and let go the same night, as his state of dress had been due to extenuating circumstances; apparently Barton had 'appeared out of nowhere, and started beating the crap out the guy hitting me' the kid (Peter) said, 'He kept them bullies distracted long enough for me to run away', he was reading this direct quote from the station's report. A very poorly written report at that, Phil hated badly done paperwork, it made is job so much more difficult. 

Shortly after the incident, 4 hours to be precise, Phil had arrived in Chicago to pick Barton up. Unfortunately Barton had made himself very scarce, hadn't left even a single clue. Now Phil was chasing down half-assed leads all over the country; he's in Vegas, looking into this new act, the supposedly 'World's Best Marksman' whose only apparent skill was slight of hand and flashy lights. Phil had yet to see a single arrow even hit the target, nevermind the bullseye. Phil really wanted to take a paper clip to the guy's eyes, since he clearly wasn't using them. 

It was back to square one, not looking for what was there but rather for what was not. 

Phil Coulson may not be a patient man, but he doesn't rush. 

*~*~*~*~*

Clint knows that something is wrong the moment he wakes up, but he isn't sure what. He listens intently, hearing again the noise that woke him; someone or something bumbling through the woods, most likely a someone. Animals, even bumbling ones, aren't as clumsy sounding as this noise. Clint climbs down from his nest and carefully, quietly, makes his way toward the noise. The source seems to be close to the river, Clint is hoping the person isn't some lost hiker who needs help getting back down the mountain; he really doesn't want to be this mysterious mountain man who saves lost mountaineers. As he approaches the river Clint slows to a stop, he crouches behind some brush at the tree line and watches; the moon is high and bright and makes seeing very easy outside of the woods. 

He was right, a figure is stumbling in his direction, following the river. This person seems to be carrying a small bundle of something, and keeps shooting worried looking glances behind and around him; the person is not very good at seeing for all of his looking. The person's mouth seems to be moving and Clint strains to hear what's being said. 

"Damn, no good freak. Breaking shit every time you cry." Clint is taken aback, the person is talking to the bundle, and he concludes that the bundle is a child. A small child. "Have to get rid of this this, no one gun find anythin all the way up here." Clint had an arrow drawn and sighted before he even realised what was happening, by the time he figured it out the arrow had flown true and was now sticking out of the man's eye socket. His feet had carried him all the way to the now falling man before he hit the ground, Clint caught the small bundle deftly and was holding it tightly to his chest. 

"Shit, what did I-" Clint's breathing was laboured, adrenaline making his blood sing. He had no idea what had just happened, he couldn't even remember bringing his bow with him, how had he just killed someone? And shit, he had killed the man, because no one walks away from an arrow through the eye; well maybe not no one, but this guy certainly hadn't survived. "What the fuck, what did I do. Oh my God. I killed him, holy fuck, oh shit." Clint clumsily yanked the arrow out of the guy's eye and he made his way to the tree line, where he put the bundle and his bow and arrows down; before being violently ill. Clint was trembling, his breathing stuttered; he was so fucked. He was shaking so badly that he couldn't think, it was all he could do to avoid collapsing into his own vomit. 

The bundle moved, and a small cry escaped the blanket. Clint took a deep breath and bent slowly to pick up the bundle, he cradled it to his chest offering what little comfort he could. He didn't know how, but he knew what he had to do. There was no way he could have let the man carry out his plan, no way he could let an innocent child be abandoned/killed in the woods and let the man responsible get away. Clint knew that he had to care for this child, knew that he had to make his way towards civilisation, somewhere he could leave the child where it would be safe. He didn't know how he would do that without getting himself caught, but he would figure it out. 

First things first though, and that was sleep. He would clear out camp as soon as day dawned, he would make sure there was no trace of him. He wouldn't touch the body, couldn't touch the body. But from his experience, the more you tried to cover it up, the more suspicious people tended to be. Erasing his presence in the woods would be easy, but erasing himself off of a body, He didn't think he'd be able to do that so he wasn't going to try.

Tucking the child close to his chest, Clint gathered his bow and arrows and made his way back to his camp. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

"There's been another incident sir." Phil Coulson looked up from his coffee, his sacred coffee which people know not to interrupt, his sacred coffee which has just been interrupted. 

"An incident?" Phil raised a brow slightly, the junior agent in front of him took a small step back, Phil raised victory arms in his head. He liked having a reputation. 

"Yes, sir." The agent fidgeted with the report in his hand before passing over the desk to Phil, who had to put down his sacred coffee to take the papers from the kid. He waved a hand in dismissal waiting for the door to click shut before he opened the report. 

A murder, a murder in the woods. In the woods in New York, with an arrow apparently. And one Clinton Barton was being accused, the current bane of his career who had never once started a fight with anyone; whose crimes tended to be tame and mostly done out of a need to survive. This same Barton was implicated in murder, oh and kidnapping. Wonderful. Phil read the report twice, just to make sure he wasn't imagining it, the report was shoddy at best; the man, a Hector Burns, had been shot through the eye with an arrow (apparently, but there was no arrow, nor evidence of any other sort of weapon or projectile). Hector had been on a night time hike with his 16 month old son, according to his wife; when he hadn't returned she had called the local sherrif, who had in turn called the Feds for help in the investigation. A sherrif Tubbs had written the work of fiction, no doubt spoon fed to him by the feds; there was no way this was an actual investigation.

Phil sighed, closed the report and picked his coffee back up. He would need this coffee to be civil to all of the incompetent people he would be interacting with today. Running through a mental checklist; Phil decided that talking to Director Fury was his top priority, followed by calling Washington and the J Edgar Hoover building which housed the FBI (oh joy), then heading out to the woods in New York to see for himself this supposed crime scene. Coffee first, always coffee first. 

*~*

The call to Fury had gone as planned, Phil now had jurisdiction on the case and the authority to court marshall and disgrace as many FBI agents as possible; so long as he kept his unflappable air about him, along with a belt full of paperclips (it's badass, seriously). 

The call to the FBI had also gone as planned, unfortunately, there was whining and denying and more whining; there was refusal, more whining and eventually begging. But damn if Phil wasn't fantastic at inter-agency cooperation, his agency got their cooperation or their agency would cease to be, simple and efficient. 

Flying from Vegas to the backwoods of New York, was not Phil's idea of a great afternoon; but it certainly was better than his morning had been. He spent the flight looking at the crime scene photos, a child with a pen could have done a better job; there were so many footprints littering the scene that it looked like central park instead of an isolated mountain trail, Phil cannot even begin to understand how Barton was the FBI's first and only suspect. 

His arrival in New York, was with very little fanfare, and it was about 150 yards from the body in a clearing, across the river. Seriously, across the river. What the actual-, Phil was a resourceful man he would find a way across the stupid river without getting his Dolce ruined. Getting across the river was both easier and a lot more fun than he'd anticipated; apparently standing silently aloof and occasionally looking mildly disgusted at the river got people moving, there was a makeshift bridge and several agents willing to lie down in the water in front of Phil in less than 10 minutes. Fantastic. 

"Sherrif Tubbs," the junior agent in front of him pointed toward an older, balding man who had a slight beer gut a hard time breathing and what appeared to be sweat gland problem. Phil knows things. Phil approached the man, hoping that his poker face would serve him well once more, his disdain at the complete incompetence of every person on the scene was threatening to overcome decorum completely. Phil had never been happier to have his belt of paperclips. 

"Agent Coulson," Tubbs' voice had a nasal quality to it, annoying. The man didn't seem to know whether he was supposed to salute or not and his hand went up and got stuck somewhere between awkward and hilarious. 

"Tubbs, report." Phil didn't shout, cuss or insult. Sometimes Phil had mercy on people, sometimes. 

"43 year old male, named Hector Burns, was reported missing 3 days past. His wife said that their son, Reggie, had trouble sleeping at night and that Hetor would take him on hikes to help him fall asleep. She said that he went out last Thursday night and when he didn't return she called up her sherrif, and then he called us."

"How did the victim die?" Phil looked around, this area seemed too far for a late night hike. If Phil didn't already believe that Barton wasn't to blame for this, then he sure would be doubting his guilt now; who hikes 15 miles from their home after dark, with a baby? Someone who wants to hide something, that's who. 

"He appears to have been murdered." a muscle in Phil's jaw clenched, or course he'd been murdered, Phil wanted to know how. God, but people are so inept. 

"How did he get that way?" 

"Them Feds say he was shot with an arrow." Again with the ineptitude, Phil was now contemplating the many ways through which he would make this man's existence hell once he got back to headquarters. 

"You were first on scene, yea?"

"No, sir, Tommy was; he's a ranger, you know those guys that patrol these trails and make sure the tourists are safe and all." Right, this was definitely the wrong tree. 

"Where is Tommy then?"

"It's his week off, he's probably at home sir." Which was definitely not here.

"Can you leave his address with agent Smith over there, and I'll take over from here." Phil turned and walked away, to the place where the body had been found. Smith would handle sheriff inept, and Phil could do his job; confirm whether this was Barton's doing, or deny it. That he could do, because that was his job, and was damned good at it. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

A baby. A real, breathing, tiny little baby. Clint didn't think the child could be more than a few months old, but the kid also looked to be underfed; so there was really no way for him to know how old the baby was. Clint didn't know what to do, not yet, but he wasn't panicking any more, so there was that at least. He'd cleared camp a few hours ago, left it so no one and nothing would be able to say he'd been there. He was now a good 40km away; far, but not quite as far as he'd like. There was no real way of telling when a ranger would happen by that trail, it could have been that very morning or it could be a week from then. So no head start was enough for Clint to feel at ease. 

He was carrying the baby in his backpack, with makeshift leg holes and his extra sweater for warmth; that wouldn't be enough soon, the baby would need food, and diapers? Yes, or something to catch its shit, so plastic bag or diapers. Clint figured he'd look less suspicious if he had diapers on the baby.

"What's your name kid? I can't keep calling you kid, or baby. How about Taylor?" The baby kicked him, and sort of grunted, which Clint assumed wasn't a positive. The man had been muttering about the kid breaking stuff when he cried, maybe the kid was a mutant; if that were the case, then Clint didn't know how much the baby understood, so he was going to talk to it like it was a real person instead of a miniature one.

"What about Colin?" Another kick, "Stan?" Another kick, "Brian?" The kid definitely understood more than the average baby. "How's about Franklin, or Frank, or Frankie?" Clint thought the kid may giggled, or gurgled he couldn't really decide which, but there was no kick so he figured that meant the kid was happy. 

"So Frankie, I'm sorry about, y'know, killing your dad and all." He wasn't, not really, Frankie's dad was going to kill him; and that shit just isn't cool. Sure Clint's dad had been awful, he'd hit Clint and Barney and their mom, but he'd never even once threatened to kill any of them. Even though being with his dad had sucked, not being with his dad had sucked more, being an orphan really sucked; and that was the lot that Clint had now given to this baby.

Clint sighed, now was not really the time to be stumbling down memory lane, now was the time to make himself very scarce very quickly. 

*~*

The sun was starting to set, Frank was crying, Clint was starving; and he'd been hiking the entire day, he really just needed to catch a break. 

"I was in the circus you know, had the best act ever; I am the world's greatest marksman, or at least that's what all the posters said. It wasn't the best life but it was mine you know, something I got for myself; sure Barney got us to the circus, but I'm the one who got myself apprenticed to-" Clint still had a hard time saying their names out loud, afraid maybe that they'd hear him or something, he didn't really know, he just didn't like saying them. "Anyway, it was me that got us a trailer to sleep in, instead of sleeping with the animals; though I kind wanted to stay with the animals, they left me alone." 

Clint had been talking idly to the baby for the better part of 2 hours, his throat was dry and he'd given the last of the water to Frank. His voice seemed to help keep the kid calm, like he didn't cry so forcefully or something. Clint didn't know, he didn't know a lot of things and it was starting to grate on him; he didn't like being in the dark. 

He finally got to a road, the sun was just dipping below the horizon. He'd come from the south, he mentally called up his map of the area; with how far he figured he'd gotten, he should be about 5km from a town called Speculator, hopefully they had food.

As he trudged down the road he started to hum, a quiet little tune under his breath; loud enough for Frank to hear, but softly enough so as not to draw attention. He crested a hill and saw the dim lights of a small town, he could have cried for the relief he felt. Clint took a quick inventory of himself; dirty, sweaty, baby in a backpack, no food, no tent, no feasible reason to be in this state. Unless, yes, that crazy idea would have to work. He stopped and bent to remove his shoe, where he kept any and all of the money he'd ever earned in his life; he had 100$, he hoped it was enough. 

When he got into the town he realised it was more of a village, it didn't even have a real traffic light, just a stop sign with a flashing light. There was a corner store which was thankfully still open, an ice cream place, some sort of 'Italian' joint and what seemed to be a gym. Store first; diapers and baby food were the most important, then water, then food for Clint and then maybe a baby carrier. He slowed his walk a little, then decided better of it; if he wasn't rushing after the story he planned in telling, well then he wouldn't be considered a normal person. 

He entered the corner store in a rush, taking deep heaving breaths; the eyes of every patron were fixed on him. A kindly looking lady came over to him.

"Are you alright young man?" Time to spin some epic yarn.

"No ma'am, I was camping with my uncle and a bear attacked our site an' I've been running for an hour trying to find somewhere safe. And I got lost, and my baby cousin was heavy so I had to fit him in my bag. And we don't have food, or diapers and I don't even know if my uncle is alive. And-" The woman laid a hand on his arm, and she looked at him and her eyes we sad. 

"I lost my Doug to a bear that gone mad, about 20 miles from here; not too long ago neither. No one caught that damn bear yet either, they'll double their efforts now, don't you worry." She gave him a hug, he tensed; no one had ever hugged him, it was weird. Frank seemed to sense his discomfort because he was getting restless and little cries were coming over Clint's shoulder. "You come with me dear, I'll make sure you get fed and you'll be staying with me tonight, you can use my phone if you like."

"I couldn't bother you like that ma'am, I don't want to be a burden I jus-" The woman tsk-ed at him, and proceeded to lead him further into the store; she took him down an aisle that seemed to be dedicated to babies.

"Its no bother, you need a place to stay and a motel ain't no place for a baby. I have a room you can use, and I have one of those little travel cribs that my son uses for my gran kids when he visits. Now come on, we have to get you some diapers and some formula for your little cousin; then you're coming with me and eating some food, then I'll let you sleep."

"I- thank you." Clint didn't really know what else to say, no one had ever shown him this much kindness before. It was overwhelming.

"What's your name son?"

"Will Brandt ma'am, and this is my cousin Franklin." She smiled at him.

"My name is Gertrude, but I like to be called Trudy." Trudy was quickly making a case for herself to be at the top of Clint's list, he wished he could have met her under different circumstances. Maybe a circumstance where he wasn't lying to her. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil couldn't find any evidence of another person having been in the area, aside from the 'police' and the Feds; there was what appeared to be vomit near the tree line, but there was so little of it left that he couldn't know how long it had been there or to whom it belonged. There were a lot of little things that pointed to a person maybe having been in the area recently, but nothing big; there were notches in trees where arrows could have been lodged, there were a few snares and some noise traps, but those all appeared old. Nothing concrete. Phil didn't like dead ends, and he disliked open-ended ends even less, they left too much to the interpretation of the person who found them.

Tommy had been much more useful than sheriff Tubbs, and he even spoke properly; Phil's day was looking up.

"When you found Mr. Burns, he was dead, is that correct?" Phil had his own report in front of him on the table, a report which he filling out in his own neat and concise handwriting.

"Yes sir, I didn't even know that he was missing, I was just doing my rounds of the trails out there. From what I could see he was long dead, the animals had scavenged a lot of him; I thought that was maybe how he'd died. But the FBI thinks he was shot with an arrow." Phil wrote this all down, making a note to have this ranger promoted to sheriff, he was way more observant and competent than Tubbs.

"Was there an arrow anywhere near Mr. Burns?"

"No sir, there was nothing near him, except for the animal tracks. I looked around, but I didn't see anything else. I ran back to my truck and radioed it in. I can't imagine how the FBI decided this was a murder." Pure, unadulterated conjecture, that's how.

"And there was no sign of a child anywhere?" The look of shock on Tommy's face was genuine, the FBI had really kept a tight lid on this one.

"No! There was a kid with him? Shit, no I didn't see a kid. I hope the animals didn't get him."

"The animals didn't get him, the Feds believe that Mr. Burns was murdered and that his son was taken from him by the murderer."

"Are you going to catch this guy?"

"Yes." Because he is Phil Coulson, and he has a belt of deadly paperclips and he is damned good at his job.

"Good, ain't nothing good that ever comes from kidnapping." And isn't that the truth.

"Thank you for your time Tommy," and Phil meant it.

"Yes sir, good luck." Phil left with a small smile on his lips, he thought it was amusing when people in their 50's called him sir; he also knew that there was something amuck with the FBI's investigation. Someone was feeding them some bull, and that someone seemed to have it out for Barton; and since Barton is Phil's job, Phil knows that there are only three people who would go this far to get Barton. Well Phil wouldn't let them have him, Barton was his job and no one was going to interfere with that.

*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

True to her word, and much to Clint's surprise; Trudy had made sure that they had baby supplies, including diapers, she also made sure to grab a couple of outfits for Frank and a t-shirt and a pair of sweats for Clint. Really above and beyond Anything Clint could ever have imagined from any human being, never mind a complete stranger. Clint had offered her the money from his boot, but Trudy had told him to keep it, he would need it later. 

Trudy didn't own a car; she led Clint, laden with the parcels they'd picked up, down the street to a cozy looking house surrounded by trees. She ushered him into her home, without so much as a sideways glance; that much trust, directed towards Clint, was disconcerting. The house smelled heavenly, and Clint's mouth was watering and his stomach made itself known rather embarrassingly. Trudy chuckled.

"Come along Will, let's get you fed; and that little cousin of yours." He followed her into a cozy kitchen, painted in soft greens. She gestured to the counter and Clint put the bags down. "First things first though, get you and your cousin cleaned up, no sense in you eating with all that muck on you. The bathroom is just down the hall there, the door on the left. Towels are under the sink; take these clothes with you, drop the ones you're wearing just outside the door then I'll decide if I will wash them or just throw them out." Trudy had a mischievous smile, that lit up her entire face, Clint couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you"

"You're welcome now go and get clean, shoo!" Clint hurried down the hall, baby backpack and all. The hall was filled with old yellowing pictures and some newer ones; these were Trudy's family, they were beautiful. Clint didn't, wouldn't, have pictures of his family. Frank wouldn't have family pictures either, it wasn't a happy Clint that made his way into the bathroom. 

Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was cozy, nothing like the bathrooms Clint had ever used; he couldn't remember a time when he had ever used a bathroom in an actual house. Carefully, he took the baby pack off his back then removed the baby and let the pack fall to the floor. Frank was filthy, he looked like he'd been rolled through mud; Clint didn't remember it being muddy, or rainy, but then he really hadn't paid much attention to anything other than getting far, and getting there fast, and with as little disturbance to his surrounding as possible. 

Clint kicked off his boots, and sat on the edge of the tub with Frank on his lap. He took his first actual look at the baby, he was tiny his eyes were grey and tired looking. And of course, the baby stank, like shit. Great. Clint unzipped Frank's outfit, and pulled him out of it and dropped that to the floor. He didn't know if the baby could hold itseft up, so he undressed himself one handed, let his clothes drop then he kicked at the pile until it was all by the door; he opened the door a crack then nudged the pile out. He looked at the kid again, eying up the diaper; he'd never seen one before and he had no clue how to go about changing one. But first things first; Clint held Frank at arms length over the tub and gently sat him in it, the baby didn't fall over. Score!

"Okay Frankie, I'm going to take off that diaper of yours," Frank looked at him sideways, well as sideways as a baby can, Clint sighed. "Alright, let's get this over with." He undid the flaps then lifted Frank out of the diaper, "Yuck!" He put the baby back down then gingerly lifted out the really gross diaper, he dropped it into the trash can then pulled out the bag and tied it tight. He deposited that outside the door as well, Clint didn't think he could feel clean while smelling that. 

Now, though, he had a really nasty, smelly, tiny child sitting in the empty tub. Now the tub was dirty. 

"Uh, right, that's gross" The water started running, Clint jumped back in surprise, then remembered Frank and jumped back to make sure he was okay. The kid was giggling as the water lapped at his tiny, dirty body. "Did you do that? Seriously, what are you? I've never. I-" Clint stared for a minute, the kid was a freak alright, unless the house was sentient or Trudy was a freak. In any case the water was on now, the kid was happy and Clint figured that was a win.

"Right then," Clint grabbed a washcloth poured some body wash on it then set to scrubbing the kid clean. Once the poop was all gone he held the baby out of the water as the tub drained and all the dirty water was gone, then he put in the plug and sat himself in the tub with Frank. He'd never had a bath that he could remember, he was going to get clean.

The fact that he was in a little town, so far from where he'd been the day before, that he now had a kid in his arms, that he'd killed a man; all those thoughts could wait for later, until then Clint was very deliberately not thinking about them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After Phil had left ranger Tommy's place he had headed right back to the scene, he'd forgotten something. It was a testament to how annoyed he'd been, Phil Coulson simply does not forget things.

What he had forgotten, was to check in the trees; Barton had a habit of hiding off the ground, up in trees, up on roofs. There was even security footage of Barton scaling up a suspension bridge to hide out above the road for a night. Really not an oversight that Phil could afford, he would probably write himself up for it later.

For now, though, he donned his field uniform; a mottled grey one piece suit that fit like a wetsuit but was far more breathable and more bullet repellent too, he had a pair of black combat boots that he secretly adored, and he made his way up a tree to see what he could see. 

There was more evidence up the tree tops, but not by much. There were some broken branches, and footholds that pointed to human inhabitants rather than animal. That was about it. Phil searched through the tree tops within a 2 mile radius of the scene, farther than he thought that Barton could hear from but he tried to account for the man to not have been in one spot all the time. On his second circuit of the tree tops, about 500 yards from the scene and to the south-west; Phil found an arrow, it had blood from the tip to about 4inches up the shaft, and jackpot: there was a fingerprint in the blood.

Phil looked around, paying close attention to forks in trunks and overlapping branches; the site had been well hidden, and we're it not for the arrow Phil thinks that he would have passed it by. If this site had indeed belonged to Barton, then he was much more of an asset than a threat; and that meant that Phil really had find Barton before the FBI did.

*~*

Once back on solid ground Phil pulled out his map of the Adirondacks, he found his relative spot on the map and surveyed the surrounding area. He was near the edge of the park, in the southern corner. Thre was very little in the immediate area, a lot of hiking trails, some campgrounds (which would be closing for the season) and only one town in a 50mile radius. Speculator, NY. He'd never heard of this place before, he doubted that many people outside of the area had.

"Smith!" The junior agent where Phil had left him, standing at he base of the tree that Phil had gone up. Smith looked up from his phone,

"Sir,"

"Tell the pilot we're going to Speculator, make sure he knows the coordinates before take-off." Smith saluted and turned to walk away. "And get me jeans, and a non SHIELD issue jacket." There was no need for Phil to announce his Fed status to the town, he'd have to have the chopper drop down way from the town and get a car. How would he get a car in the middle of nowhere? 

"And have a car meet us about 10miles from the town." Delegation was something else that Phil Coulson was good at.

The chopper ride and the subsequent car ride were uneventful, thankfully. 

Speculator, when Phil finally laid eyes on the town, was the smallest, most unassuming place that Phil had ever seen. Not even a stop light. It could almost be called quaint.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After they were washed and dressed, Trudy sat Clint down at the table; where she had served a large bowl of some stew some bread and a big glass of milk. It looked like a feast, while Trudy held Frankie and spooned some sort of mush into the baby's mouth, Clint ate. He had never eaten this well. 

"Well, I know you aren't going to hurt me," Clint had just wiped the last of the stew with his bread and was chewing when Trudy spoke. He looked at her, eyes wide, fear evident on his face. "What I don't know is who you are, I haven't called anyone don't you worry. I know that a bear didn't attack you, there hasn't been a bear attack in these parts in 50 years." But she'd said something about a Doug and a bear and the bear made out on top.

"My Doug died, yes. But it was from cancer, not a bear attack," she seemed to be able to read him very well, or he was apparently speaking his thoughts out loud. "My mum was in the government, back in WWII, she was a great agent and a very good teacher." 

Government, great. How could this be his life, well it seemed to be par for the course of the rest of his life he supposed. He might as well tell her the truth, at least his side, talking about it would at least help him sort through his thoughts.

"My name is Clint, that's not my cousin; I only met him last night." Trudy hmmed and gestured for him to continue, the soft lighting exaggerated her wrinkles and made her look older, her grey hair seemed to glow and her eyes were so, so knowing. She reminded Clint of lady Althea from the circus, she'd had knowing eyes too. "I-" he didn't know how to tell his story, he'd never told it before. Frank yawned, and his eyes were drooping.

"You think through it, while I put the little one down." Clint nodded jerkily, really unsure as to how to respond. How is it that he managed to find the only person in 100km who could be a danger to his freedom, seriously. He listened as Trudy cooed softly to Frank and hummed a lullaby while she put him down to sleep, it was soothing; Clint didn't really want to be soothed just then, he was busy freaking the fuck out, while his body may have been still his mind was racing in convoluted circles. Shuld he just lay his whole sob story out for her, or just stick to the basics; like how he came across a kid, in the woods, about 50km.

"Just start with the child Clint," He jumped, he really needed to pay more attention to the ninja lady. Trudy just chuckled and sat across from him at the table.

"Well, I was camping out in the woods when..."

*~*

After Clint had told Trudy everything about the last day and a bit, since he'd heard the man by the river; she sent him off to bed, ignoring his offer to help clean (because offering to clean had helped him find shelter from many winter nights). The room she had led him to was converted attic, painted in a cheerful yellow. The bed, a real bed, had a homemade quilt covering it and the fluffiest pillows ever. Clint had smiled, thanked Trudy profusely and proceeded to fall into the bed. 

"We'll chat some more in the morning dear, right now you need to sleep and rest. Goodnight."

Now Clint was alone with his thoughts, thoughts he'd been able to ignore before because he'd been focused on his task. He'd killed a man, he couldn't even claim self defence; he had flat out murdered him. Clint went through the events over and over in his mind; he could've waited to see what the man was going to do and intervene at the last minute, he could have shouted at the man, he could have simply offered to take the child off his hands. He hadn't done any of those things, on instinct he'd shot an arrow through the man's eye; who even did that? 

He felt nauseous, he couldn't believe he'd taken a life. Trudy had told him that the man had deserved what Clint had given him but who was Clint to judge? Clint was a thief, a trespasser, a liar, he was a nobody who had a bow. That's it. Nothing more than a run away orphan, who'd been betrayed by the only family he'd ever trusted.

These thoughts chased each other around in Clint's mind relentlessly, his body was exhausted but he couldn't turn his mind off. Even the breathing exercises that Trickshot had taught him were backfiring, because thinking about Trickshot perpetuated the endless looping of Clint's thoughts. A quiet knock on the door startled Clint from his mind loops, Trudy came into the room bearing a mug of something steaming.

"I can practically hear you thinking from downstairs, I heated up some milk for you; drink it, and I'll tell you a little story." She handed Clint the mug and sat herself on the end of the bed by his feet.

"When I was a young girl, we were living in New York city; I was kidnapped by an organisation called Hydra. The man who'd kidnapped me was only doing what he'd been ordered to do if he ever wanted to see his family again; my mum, she was highly trained and very intelligent; she had to be, she was the only woman in the military with a higher rank than a man, those were the times she lived in. Anyway, this was maybe 10 years after WWII; my mum had lost the love of her life but had finally been able to move on and start her own family. My father was a factory owner, and my mum was still with the government; and I was sitting on our front porch when this man walked up and grabbed me. My mum had shot him before he'd even made it down the path with me; she thought she had done the right thing, and she had but after the investigation and she found out that the man was only trying to protect his family; well she started to doubt herself, she thought of herself as a murderer instead of as a hero. It took a while but she eventually came to the conclusion that she had saved me, and that made her a hero not a murderer." Trudy fixed Clint with a steady stare full of understanding. "The fact of the matter is this: you killed a man, yes, but you saved the life of a child and that outweighs the wrong. You did the right thing, even if you don't think so and I won't tell anyone otherwise. Now hand me that mug, and get yourself some sleep dear." Clint couldn't remember drinking the milk, but his mug was empty and his eyes were heavy and his mind had slowed right down.

"Thank you Trudy," he doesn't think he's even meant the words more.

"You just rest," he was asleep before she had even closed the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil pulled the car into the first parking lot he found, there was a bank a post office and a small grocery store. This seemed like as good a place as any to start looking, really there weren't any other places that Phil thought that Barton could have gotten to; he didn't know where else he'd look if this turned out to be a bust. 

He walked into the store, it wasn't just a small grocery store, it was a mini wal-mart or something; there was food, clothing, books, even a small cafe like area in the back. Phil grabbed a basket and slowly made his way through the aisles, picking up items that would be useful for day hikes; to back up his cover.

When he went to the check-out he made small talk with the cashier; a younger woman maybe 30 at most, smiled at him when he spoke and asked him what he was doing all the way out here.

"I'm on my way to hike a couple of peaks on my weekend vacation," the High Peaks were famous in upstate New York and the surrounding states/provinces. Phil was claiming to be from Kingston Ontario, hoping no one would ask too many questions outside of the typical: 'do you live in an igloo?', 'do you know my second cousin John?', 'how come you call it a zed instead of a zee, wouldn't it make words sound different, like zebra would be like zedbra or something?', and more along those pointless lines.

"You be sure and avoid bears, you hear me." She looked at him sternly while she scanned his trail mix, he nodded. "There was a bear attack just a week ago, not 50 miles from here; young man had to rescue is cousin while his uncle fought the bear off. He hasn't been able to get a hold of his uncle neither, poor kid. It's a good thing old Trudy decided to take care of those two, they looked half dead when they got in here."

"Really? A bear attack, I didn't think that happened very often." He played concerned citizen, "Does the kid need a ride anywhere? I could maybe help him out since i'm headed off to the woods." She finished scanning his items and fixed Phil with biggest smile he'd seen in a good long time, since the last time he'd visited his sister and her family maybe.

"Well aren't you the sweetest. Trudy's just down the road, big moose cutout at the end of her driveway; white house, green shutters. You be sure and let her know that I sent you, my name's Hannah" she held out her hand for Phil to shake.

"Mike,"

"Well Mike, it was lovely to meet you. Your total is 24.50$, how would you like to pay today?"

"Cash" Phil said as he handed her 25.00$ "Keep the change, have a great day." Phil already had his bag and was making his way to the exit before she called out her thanks after him.

Phil had a lead, kid with a baby? Kid claiming to be the baby's cousin, running from a bear attack and a possibly dead uncle? Phil, if he were a betting man, would have bet his entire year's salary that the kid was Barton.

The game was on.


	3. Phil's Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint learns, Phil finds and Fury mocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for dropping off the face of the planet and for the delay with the update.
> 
> Hopefully I wont keep you waiting this long for the next one.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

As a general rule, people dislike Mondays; Clint has never really had much of an issue with them, but then he'd never had to go to school or to an office job like so many of the people who have vendettas against Mondays. 

Clint was maybe now starting to understand peoples' dislike for the day; Trudy had woken him up at 5, 5 what the hell, and told him that she would be taking Frank with her to the church down the road where she was teaching a first aid course. She had a list of chores for him to do, a list which he couldn't read. 

When Trudy saw him squinting at the paper she'd asked him if he was opposed to earning his keep; and Clint, who always had to work for his keep, assured that no he 'liked to work, really'. 

"I just can't read what you wrote," He admitted sheepishly, and with what he feared was a very telling flush. Trudy had fixed him with a truly horrified look and sat him down at the table.

"You feed Frank, I have some things to find for you." Clint obeyed because really, you just don't disobey nice old ladies. Especially nice old ladies, who don't care that you've murdered a man, kidnapped his son; and then offer you a warm dry place to stay. Clint was not stupid, just uneducated, so he sat and fed Frank; who sat and giggled and cooed at Clint like a cute little irresistible kitten. 

Clint had just wiped Frank's face when Trudy reentered the kitchen, she had an armload of books, which Clint frowned at, and a big smile. 

"These are to help you," Trudy informed him cheerfully. How Clint was going to learn how to read from a book full of words he could not read was a mystery to him; but if Trudy asked him to try, well that's what he would do. After all, he managed to do all of the other things she had asked him to do: mow the lawn, patch the roof, chop the logs. He could even make soup now, which he was particularly proud of.

"I know i know, they're books; but there is also a videotape here to show you, to help you follow along." She deposited everything on the other end of the table, and lifted up a disc with a grin. "Here we go, you can watch this and follow along in the book this morning while I'm at the church; and when I get back," she nodded to the living room and walked over. "I'll help you go through the book with out the tape, and then soon enough you won't need me or the tape; you'll be able to read all of those books."

"Are you sure?" Clint had always wanted to be able to read, he'd admired the circus posters and had once asked Althea to teach him; but Barney and well- Clint just never had an opportunity to learn.

"Very sure, sit here." Clint sat with Frank on his lap and watched as Trudy fiddled with the television set, and the VCR. "Alright, you give me Frank, he can entertain the ladies while I teach." She picked Frank up off Clint's lap and dropped the book next to him. "Have a good morning, I'll see you at lunch time."

Clint was still sitting unseeing when the video started the lesson, he sat through most of the lesson without so much as blinking. He was having trouble understanding the kind of generosity that Trudy was showing him. What got him out of his stupor, was thinking of what Trudy's face would look like if he spent the entire morning not learning what she wanted to teach him. He shook his head, blinked and figured out how to rewind and started the lesson over.

He would learn, and he would do it like he did everything else; with determination.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil Coulson drove down the road to the local library, which was tiny, but apparently had a computer; which he would need for his research. He needed to look into this Trudy character, find out if she posed a threat or if she would be an asset, see what she knew about the person she was harbouring, and then discern a plan of action. First things first though, research.

Phil pulled out his phone and called Fury as he sat at the library's computer, he needed to get access to SHIELD's satellite and to do that he needed today's access code.

"Found him sir."

"Confirmed?" Fury's voice was curious, but carefully emotionless.

"No, I need recon on the person he is currently ensconced with."

"Hydrangea"

"Thank you sir, I also need you to look into the FBI agent in charge of their search for Barton." Someone had a grudge, and that someone knew what to look for when it came to Barton. Phil had his suspicions, but he would need confirmation.

"What is the pretense of this inquiry?" 

"Inter-agency cooperation of course," if Phil smirked a little, well no one was the wiser.

"Understood agent, keep up the good work."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Phil ended the call. He cast a surreptitious glance around the library, which was practically deserted; then turned his full attention on the computer in front of him, every computer manufactured in the US had SHIELD protocols installed and Phil needed access to those protocols to get into the SHIELD search engine. While the program was booting up, he looked at the address book for Speculator; there was only one name on it that could be Trudy, a Mrs. Gertrude McClucky. The name seemed familiar, but Phil could not remember where, or even if, he'd heard it before.

The screen flashed, notifying Phil that the protocols were up and running, time to investigate Mrs McClucky.

Name: McClucky, Gertrude P.  
Age: 62 Sex: Female Maiden Name: Richards  
Address: P.O Box 7, Speculator NY, 12164  
Marital Status: Widow  
Employment Status: Retired RN  
SHIELD Clearance: Lvl 2  
Father: Richards, Pierce D. (Sir); British Navy (retired), founder of Richards' Brewery, no ties to US Military or SHIELD, Deceased  
Mother: Richards, Margaret L., Born Carter, Margaret L.; British Intelligence, Liaison to US Military Science Division. Friend of Howard Stark (See Stark, Howard A), Deceased.

Phil frowned at the screen, daughter of Margaret Carter AKA Peggy Carter, AKA love interest to Captain Steven Rogers, AKA Captain America; Phil's hero's love interest's daughter. 

"Well then," He wasn't sure how he would approach this one, he couldn't just waltz up to this woman's home and demand to see her guest. He could hear his mum's "Manners Matter" speech in the back of his mind. He would have to call first, maybe even get Fury to call; her file said that she had SHIELD clearance, she would know Fury. Phil flipped his phone open and called Fury again.

"If you don't have something I'm deducting your long distance from your pay," Fury growled as he picked up, Phil chuckled.

"We don't pay for the phone service sir, the tax-payers do."

"They don't pay for it so that we can gab like teenagers," though sometimes they did; especially when you have an agent in the field panicking about blown cover and you need to talk them down, Phil hated those conversations.

"Yes, sir"

"What do you have for me Coulson?"

"I believe that Barton is staying with a Mrs. Gertrude McClucky"

"With Trudy?"

"Yes" So Fury did know her, that would hopefully help his case. "I was calling to ask you if you would inform her that you are running some sort of agency-wide check, of everyone alive who has ever been associated with SHIELD, or some such bull, sir."

"You want me to lie to Peggy Carter's daughter?"

"No, I want you to tell her I'm coming." Phil cringed, he didn't particularly like how his plan sounded coming from Fury.

"But not to tell her why,"

"Precisely, if Barton were to grow suspicious he will run." Phil couldn't lose him again, not when he was this close. "I do not want to have to spend another year of my life chasing him down."

"Fine," Phil could hear the director's sigh, it echoed his own.

"Thank you, sir."

"I have your Intel too, if you were wondering." So soon? Fury was either really quick, or the FBI was feeding them shit.

"Sir,"

"The agent in charge of the FBI's investigation is one Bernard Lynch; though I suspect that his name is bogus."

"Lynch? I thought that was the staple CIA cover."

"FBI is playing copycat it seems."

"Did they tell you how they came to their conclusion about the murder in the woods?"

"They have expert investigators." Phil choked on his laugh, experts ha. "My thoughts too Coulson, in any case I activated the SHIELD tech in his computer and got a really nice mug shot; his real name is Bernard Barton, AKA Barney."

"AKA the reason my Barton is running."

"Your Barton?"

"My case, my man sir." It wasn't often that Phil slipped up like that, Fury was not going to let this one go for a long while.

"As you say Coulson," the director was laughing on the other end, laughing at Phil. Phil sighed, he could handle the director; he would take him down the next time they sparred, no holds barred. Fury was laughing even louder. Definitely an all out beat-down.

"Thank you sir, have a nice day."

"I'll give Trudy a call, wait until tomorrow to go see her."

"Sir,"

"Actually, I'll tell her that you will be giving her a call to set up an appointment."

"Sir,"

"Take care Coulson.

"You too sir, thank you." Phil could still hear Fury's chuckles as the call ended, and he ran a hand over his face; he would never live it down: Phil Coulson, badass extraordinaire, possessive of a case. He sighed and disconnected from the database, and powered down the SHIELD protocols, and erased his search for Trudy from the computer's hard drive.

"Now to find a place to sleep," Phil stood and left the library, the door blowing shut behind him. The sound startled him, and he reached for his gun before realizing where he was.  
He dropped his hand quickly, but he was too late; someone had seen him and gasped. Phil looked over to the person, and blinked stupidly. Standing not 15 feet away was the man he'd been chasing for a year; Clinton Barton, world's greatest marksman, carrying the missing child on his back.

"Sorry," Phil stammered, trying to think of a reasonable explanation for his reaction. "Just got home from Iraq, still jumpy." 

"You're not tanned," Barton's voice was surprising, Phil didn't realize that he had had expectations of what Barton would sound like; but he had definitely not expected him to sound so young. Then Barton's words filtered through, and Phil noticed him tensing just before he took off down the road.

Damn, those eyes were piercingly sharp.

Phil, as he had been for the last year, gave chase.


	4. Phil Makes a Mistake

Clint sighed and ran a hand over his face, he had just finished the last cahier that Trudy had given him. His head was hurting; but he could now read, albeit at the level of a 10 year old, but it was better than what he was at before, which was less than nothing. He closed the cahier and looked over to little Frankie, who was cooing at a fluffy animal toy, maybe a dog but it kind of looked like an owl at this angle, whatever the case the kid seemed to love it, and that was enough for Clint.

'Hey little buddy," Clint called softly to Frank, the baby looked right at him, through him almost. "You're way creepy kid, in a cute sort of way." Frank giggled, Clint really didn't know what to make of the kid, he obviously had some sort of 'gifting' or mutation or maybe he was an alien; he was just too aware for someone so young.

"Kit" Clint stared, the kid was talking? That's impossible, but Frank was looking directly at him and opened his mouth. "Kit!" Then he giggled again, and Clint smiled. Gifted or not, the kid seemed to like him, and Clint liked the kid too.

"Want to go to the library and help me pick out some books that are my speed?" Frank just raised his arms expectantly. Clint laughed and went over to pick him up. "Demanding little thing, aren't ya?" He hoisted Frank up onto his shoulders as he made his way through the house to the back door, on the counter by the door was a notepad; "So's I can keep track of you kid," where Clint was supposed to write out where he was going, and if he couldn't write it, then he couldn't go. Simple. Or not, he'd wanted to go get groceries the other day, and darned if he could spell the damned word.

Trudy,  
Gone to ~~libary~~ Library with Frank.  
Back soon,  
Clint

He put Frank is his backpack carrier and went out, it was a really nice day; bright sun and light breeze, unseasonably warm but Clint wasn't going to complain. 

"Walk or run kid?" Frank just wrapped his arms as far around Clint as they would fit and let out a cute little coo, Clint figured the kid would complain if he wanted something else, so he picked walking. He was going to enjoy the weather, Frank seemed to be on the same page.

~*~

"I had a brother, well have one, but I haven't seen him in a while. Anyway, we used to get into all sorts of mischief when we were little. I remember one time, it was nice out like this, and mom had hung all the bedsheets out dry; and Barn and I, well we decided that the sheets would make an awesome fort and we painted them with mud and poked holes for windows. When mom came to investigate all of the noise, she laughed so hard she cried. I miss her." Clint sighed, he didn't think that Frank needed to know what happened when his dad came home, no one was laughing anymore, in fact that was the last time he ever heard his mom laugh. His dad beat her to death that night, then beat up Clint because Clint still hadn't learned to stay out the way and he wanted mom to stop screaming. Barney had always been smarter than Clint, he was hiding in his closet while dad was on that last rampage. After mom had stopped screaming and Clint couldn't move, his dad had finished drinking the bottle of whatever he'd been hitting mom with and then went for a drive. Clint never saw him again, the next morning the police came to tell the family that dad had driven off the bridge just outside town and that they were sorry for their loss; but they didn't say anything, Barney had opened the door wide enough for the police to see mom, to see Clint lying wrapped in her arms, and suddenly there was a flurry of questions, crying neighbours and tight lipped suit wearing ladies. Then they were shuffled into the orphanage.

"That's one of my favourite memories of my mom, one of the only ones, but a good one." Clint blinked away tears, he hadn't noticed that he was crying. Frank squeezed his arms against Clint, and warmth seemed to surround him and he was overcome with a sense of peace. Man, this kid was crazy. "Thanks Frankie" he said softly. "Love you too."

They were about 100m from the library and Clint wiped at his face, he didn't like other people seeing him cry; tears made people ask questions and Clint kept answers as a form of currency and he wasn't planning on sharing any time soon.

There was a car in the parking lot, a new car but the shininess of it. Trudy said that they got a lot of people with money who visited their little town, mostly because they wanted the 'authentic' outdoors-man experience. Clint's experience had nothing to do with too much money and too much time, and had everything to do with desperation. He didn't like 'thrill-seekers', they didn't understand that their 'thrills' were other peoples reality and nightmares.

Clint walked up to the steps just as someone else was leaving; the man didn't look anywhere near as shiny as the car in the parking lot, in fact he looked distinctly unshiny. Clint sniffed quietly; unshiny people put him on edge as much as shiny people pissed him off. The man reacted as fast, if not faster than Clint would have, and reached for his back but stopped reaching and ran a hand through his hair, and looked up at Clint sheepishly.

The man's uncertain smile erased all of his unshininess and put him somewhere near normal; Clint was tensing before he thought about it, anyone who can change their 'aura', their energy, their shininess that fast was not someone Clint could trust.

"Sorry, I just got home from Iraq, still jumpy." Clint almost believed him, but he caught sight of the man's wrist, there was no difference in the colour of his hand and his arm.

"You're not tanned." Clint told the man before he could stop himself, then he turned and booked it as fast as he could in the other direction. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Damnit! A rookie mistake. Phil Coulson was fuming at himself, he'd reached for his weapon without thinking. He'd reacted instinctively, as he only does when he's let his awareness waver. Had he been paying attention he would have noticed the person near him and he would have greeted them normally and he would now be having a conversation with Barton instead of chasing him.

Phil Coulson may have been young, but he is definitely not a rookie.

He sighed in frustration, and grabbed his phone from his pocket. 

"Better be important." Fury's voice was clipped.

"Unfortunately."

"Status?"

"Barton may have made me, I need to talk to Gertrude ASAP."

"I'll inform her."

"Sir."

"You, put on you charming pants. I want Barton alive, not dead, and definitely not in FBI custody."

"Understood."

"Get it done." Fury hung up and Phil sighed again. Hopefully hearing from the director would help legitimize him with Gertrude, he needed her on his side. 

But damn those eyes, they were sharper than Phil could have imagined; they had seen right through his front, seen his lie and had made up his mind to run so fast that Phil had barely realized that the kid was going to run. Barton was everything and much more than Phil was expecting; he was small for his age, haggard and drawn looking, and piercingly smart.

Phil got into the car he'd been assigned and waited for Fury's go ahead to contact Gertrude McClucky. SHIELD had guidelines for making contact with former employees and their families, they knew suits from regular people, knew their MO, and knew not to speak to people who weren't vetted to them by a trusted source.

Phil's phone beeped, and the message 'GO' flashed on the screen. He started up the car and made his way down the road to Mrs McClucky's home. The drive takes five minutes and Phil is too busy composing himself to enjoy beautiful scenery, he needed to be his usual competent self; a competent self who didn't make mistakes like the one he'd made at the library. He only hoped that Barton's trust in Gertrude overrode his mistrust of Phil himself.

When he got to the bottom of the driveway, he parked the car; if he needed to run it would be easier to just run than back the car out the driveway. Phil put his gun in the dash, no point in making Barton more nervous and flighty than he was already likely to be. He removed his jacket too, to show that he wasn't hiding anything.

Phil Coulson was not someone who gave into fear, but nerves seemed to get the better of him in this instance he could feel them. He was going to meet Peggy Carter's daughter, this would be the closest he could ever hope to get to meet Captain America. He was almost giddy, and entertained the idea of getting her autograph; but only briefly. He was, after all, a professional. 

He made his way up the driveway, each pace measured to project the least threatening posture he could muster.

As he reached the porch, the door opened to reveal an angry faced Barton. Barton shut the door swiftly behind him and stood to block Phil's path.

"Get lost fed." Phil held his hands up in front of him, in a hopefully placating manner.

"I'm not here to hurt you Barton." Barton's glare sharpened. 'I'm not here to hurt Reggie or Mrs McClucky either."

"Reggie?" Phil had startled the kid, surprised him. Barton blinked and the anger was back in full force, he was not going to let Phil any closer. Phil needed to get through, needed to help the kid understand that he wasn't here to hurt him.

"The baby, that's his name." Barton shook his head, he seemed to be attached to the kid. "What do you call him?"

"Frank," the name is said so softly that Phil hardly heard him, those sharp blue eyes were afraid for the baby.

"I'm not going to take Frank away, his parents are unworthy of him. Well his mother is in any case," considering that the father was deceased, but hadn't been worthy of a child either.

"His dad was gunna drop him in the river."

"I know."

"How?"

"I know a great many things Clinton Francis Barton, I know that you have gone through more than most people thrice your age, that you have a strong moral compass hidden behind your gruff persona and rap sheet. I know about your father, your mother, your brother; I know about Trickshot and the Swordsman. I know that you shot Frank's father because he was going to drown him." With every word he spoke Barton's anger washed away from his face, replaced with fear, then confusion followed by despair. Phil looked at him, really looked and saw a sad, broken young man with nothing going for him in the world; saw someone who had nothing to fight for but still somehow managed to get back up and try to live. 

"And-" Barton took a breath, this was it; either Barton would let him in now, or Phil would never get through to him. "And what do you want?" Phil had him, mostly, well he'd figure it out. He was Phil Coulson after all.

"I want to talk to you, and Gertrude, if that's alright." Barton nodded. "Can I come in, or should we have our conversation out here?" Fury would shoot him, well hopefully not, probably not. Phil was nowhere in the manual anymore, but Barton was special.

"Inside," Barton turned and opened the door. "Frank doesn't like to be alone." He turned back to look at Phil

"Thank you Mr Barton."

"What's your name?"

"Agent Coulson," standard response.

"Agent? That like your first name or sumwhat?" Phil shook his head and smiled. He definitely had Barton now, the kid was interested, excellent.

"My first name is classified I'm afraid," not technically, but Barton needed some incentive to come in. "You'll have to cooperate with me, maybe I'll share the state secret with you as a reward." Barton coughed, and looked away but Phil had seen the smile and he knew that the cough was a laugh. Damn but he was good at his job.

"Come on in then, but I'm warnin ya, don't you be hurting, threatening or even looking weird at Frank or Trudy, got it?" Phil nodded.

"I got it." Barton pushed the door fully open, inviting Phil to step into the house. 

"Ah Phil, how nice of you to join us." Phil pushed Barton to the ground and reached for his gun, which wasn't tucked into his pants, which was in the car. Damnit! 

Barton let out a sound that sounded like a sob when he saw who was standing in the front room, standing in the front room with little baby ~~Reggie~~ Frank in his arms.

"Barn-?"

"Shut up Clint, I'm talkin to the fed." And Phil looked up into the eyes of one Bernard, Barney, Charles Barton; FBI agent on the case in the hunt for Clinton Barton. "Come over here fed." He motioned for Phil to come closer, he had a gun in one hand and baby in the other. Babies and guns never mixed in Phil's , thankfully limited, experience in the matter.

"Takes one to know one feeb." Good one Phil, lets piss off the man with the gun, in for a penny in for a pound. "In fact I think that I've seen you before, oh yes your picture shows up in the dictionary next to tool." Government tool, Swordsman's tool, father's tool; seemed appropriate considering. The smack of the gun across his face hurt just like he thought it would, just like it always did; bad guys were so predictable. Phil dropped to his knees in front of Barney and waited for the second hit, he had to time this right. One, two, Phil grabbed onto the gun as it came down and twisted it sharply, breaking several of Barney's fingers. The feeb let out a pained cry and dropped the gun, and the baby. Phil lunged for the baby, but Clint beat him to it, Phil redirected his attention to subduing the older Barton.

The fight didn't really last all that long, they never did; people took one look at him and dismissed him as a pencil pushing fed, not a field fed, their mistake. Phil had Barney on the ground, arms twisted behind his back and a knee between his shoulder blades; Phil really didn't like it when people threatened defenseless people, i.e: babies.

"Don't you move feeb, or I will scramble your brains with my collection of post-it notes from my secretary. Got it?" He didn't wait for an answer as he bound Barney with zip-cuffs.

Phil looked at Clint, the kid was cradling the baby and talking in a low voice, trying to calm him down. "Is he alright?" Clint nodded. "Are you alright?" Another nod. "Is Trudy home?" A shake. Phil stepped closer to Clint. "Look at me," Clint met his eyes, emotions swirling in them. "Are you alright? Answer me Barton." A nod. "Damnit Clint talk to me!

"Yes," the word was choked out.

"Yes what?"

"I'm alright,"

"Good, sit down." Clint sat, hugging Frank close to him, rubbing circles on his back. "You," he turned to the FBI agent cuffed across the room. "How did you know Clint was here?" Barton laughed, an ugly laugh that gave Phil chills and made him glad that Barton was cuffed, and that he had the gun now.

"Followed you,"

"Bullshit"

"Language agent, there are children in the room." Phil wanted to hit him, wanted to inflict on him even just half of the pain that he'd inflicted on his younger brother. "But you're right, I didn't follow you."

"How then?" Phil had a feeling that he wouldn't like the answer.

"Smith," Sometimes he hated being right.

"Your Smith?" Phil needed inside the bastard's head. "Or mine?"

"Yours of course, mine is useless." 

"Of course."

"Clint," Barton looked over to his brother, whose face was a mix of grief and rage, Clint flinched and hugged Frank tighter.

"Don't you talk to him." Phil growled, now he just wanted to shoot the bastard.

"Got attached did you fed? Let one year of chasing after him cloud your mind?" Phil was tense, he flexed his hand a few times. he needed to stay calm. "He's pretty ain't he, such a pretty face. And a sad story too, made you wanna be his knight didn't it."

"Stop talking or I will end you Barton."

"No you wont, that would make your new toy sad." A vase slammed into Barton's face, Phil was fairly certain that he hadn't thrown it. He glanced over to Clint, but he hadn't moved, baby Frank was staring straight at Barton and his eyes were yellow; well that confirms that suspicion, gifted indeed.

"My kit!" More household objects flew at Barton, cushions, dishes and books smacked into him over and over.

"Stop it! Frank no, he's my-" The objects fell to the floor and Frank's eyes returned to baby-blue and he cuddled into Clint's chest. Clint held him close while he sobbed, Phil looked away letting Clint have his privacy.

"You will be locked up in Gitmo for the rest of your miserable existence feeb, you will never see the light of day again."

The door banged open, a little old lady stood in the frame and shotgun in her hands, aiming at the room at large. "Which one of you is Coulson?"


	5. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! I had to rewrite this chapter after I lost it, and I was unhappy with the rewrite, so I just sat on it. Then I started a new job, working 10 hour days and I just didn't seem to have the energy to think.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and asked for more, I really don't think I would have finished this without all of your cheerleading.

"Which one of you is Coulson?"

"That'd be me ma'am" Phil looked at her, but didn't lower his gun from where he had it aimed at Barton's head.

"And him?"

"Bernard, Barney, Barton ma'am." Phil told her, he watched her face and knew when she figured it out.

"Shoot him."

"No!" That was Clinton Barton, stepping in to save his brother, because Phil just wanted the older Barton gone. His finger itched on the trigger regardless.

"Fine then, Clint come here. Coulson," Phil looked at her, he hadn't even realized that he'd looked away, to watch Clint instead of her. "This phone call is for you," she tossed him her phone and he caught it. He lifted it to his ear when Clint had made his way across the living room to stand beside Trudy.

"Coulson,"

"The crackers are out."

"And the cheese is fresh, seriously you think I'd let someone toss a phone at me if I wasn’t clear?" Fury laughed.

"I think you'd do just about anything to get on Peggy Carter's daughter's good side frankly." Phil huffed a chuckle. "And I know you Phil you would do almost anything to lure a target off guard, and just because you don't usually have to, doesn't mean you wouldn't, so don't argue with me."

"Wasn't planning on it sir."

"Sure you weren't. Sitrep."

"I have a Bernard Barton in custody, he is bringing allegations against Agent Smith; he will need to be interrogated; Smith as well. My recommendation is Guantanamo for the both of them, as long as they both shall live."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"I am in the presence of a Clinton Francis Barton, and a Reggie, now Frank, Burns; who will need a full assessment form Professor Xavier. And a Ms Gertrude McClucky, whom you were just speaking with so I assume that you've given her a brief rundown of the situation."

"I did."

"Good, is there a team nearby to pick up Barton?"

"I let them know you were going in sooner than expected, they should be there shortly. Stupid ass rookie mistake by the way." Fury chuckled, Phil rolled his eyes.

"I know-wait how did you?"

"That small town has a digital security network, it's wonderful. I'm fairly certain Sitwell saw the footage before I had a chance to classify it." No denying that Fury was nearly doubled over in laughter now, Phil would take him to the mat so hard that the mats would be feeling pain. Sitwell had been Phil's handler and had seen Phil at some of his worst, so him seeing the footage wasn't the issue. No the issue was, what that footage would do to Phil's hard earned reputation if it was seen by anyone else.

"No kidding, digital security. Go figure."

"You're carefully carved image might take a small hit, but if you bring in 'your Barton' they might just let it slide."

"Piss off Nick, see you later, ass." Fury was too busy guffawing to really hear any of what Phil was saying, so Phil ended the call and held it out for Trudy to grab.

"There is a team coming for you," Phil addressed Barton the elder, making sure that he had the man's full attention. "You will be held in SHIELD custody until I get the chance to interrogate you, and it will be me, don't think for even a second that I'm going to pawn you off. I'm going to enjoy breaking you, then sending you off to spend the rest of your days in a cell where you will never have visitors, or friends, or daylight."

"You can't do that, I'm a US citizen, I'm a fed, I have ri-"

"You have nothing," Phil interrupted, he didn't like arrogance especially misguided arrogance. "First off, you committed an act of treason when you solicited the help of Agent Smith so that you could have classified information from another agency's case; that is espionage which is treason in this country. People who commit treason, guess what happens to them? They get stripped of citizenship, and rank; and they get put in Gitmo. So you no longer have any rights, do you understand?" A nod. "Good. Secondly, I would hardly call working for the FBI being a 'fed', you feebs are the lowest in the hierarchy. Period." Phil looks over at Clint, Trudy and Frank. "Do you have anything to say to your brother?" Clint started to shake his head, but Bernard opened his mouth to speak.

"You serious? You ungrateful little shit! After everything I did for you! You're gun let this asshole take me in?" Clint held Frank out for Trudy to hold, then he crossed the room to crouch in front of his brother.

"Shut up Barney," Phil had thought Clint had sounded young at the library, there was nothing young about this voice. It was deadly calm, and it made Phil's heart race a bit; but he wasn't going to self-analyze right now. "I'm done with your shit. You're my big brother, you're supposed to take care of me; all the fucking books says so."

"Since when do you know how to read, you good for nothing little-" Clint flexed to raise his hand, but he didn't follow through on the action, apparently just the movement was enough to shut his brother up. Coward, Phil thought to himself of the older Barton.

"I'm talkin Barn. I'm not stupid you know, just because I've never been taught doesn't mean I'm stupid. I remember how I was always the one standing up to dad, protecting mom while you were holed up in your closet. I was doing your job, you were supposed to protect us, but you're a coward. You think I don't know that you would have left me at the orphanage and never once looked back, you think I don't know that the only I ever got to go with you is because I heard you get off your bunk? You think I don't know about all your rants to your 'friends' at the circus, all those talks to the townies of how all you want is a family because you're on your own in the big world. You think that I don't know about all those times you tried to have me gotten rid of? I remember, I remember and I was only 4 when we ran from the nuns. I remember the lion that 'escaped' from its cage; the rigging that was suddenly loose, i remember when my bow snapped during an act and nearly took out my eyes, then Trick nearly took my life for embarrassing him. You think I couldn't see?" Clint's voice had gotten progressively lower, and more dangerous as he spoke. He was nearly whispering. "And when you finally convinced Trick that I was a liability, you think I didn't know it was coming? I knew big brother, I just hoped that I was wrong about you. The only person you've ever cared about is yourself, and now the only person you'll ever need to care about is yourself. You're damn right I'm going to let Agent Coulson take you in, I'm going to let him break you and then when he tells me that I can never see you again I'll thank him." Barton moved and Phil had the safety off and aimed back at him as fast as he's ever done, but Clint had already knocked his brother out. The kid was fast. Clint stood and walked to Phil.

"That team of yours going to be here soon?" Phil nodded.

"Should be about 10 minutes, you alright?" Clint shook his head and looked at Trudy, who had put the phone down on the bookshelf and was holding Frank close, the baby seemed to be asleep.

"I'm going to take this little man upstairs and put him down for a rest, then I'm going to pack. You two let me know when you've finished talking." Clint nodded.

"Yes ma'am" Phil answered, because verbal responses were better. Trudy turned and went down the hall, he listened as she made her way upstairs then he looked at Clint. "You come with me, we can talk in the kitchen." Another nod. Phil grabbed Clint's arm and dragged him to the kitchen, well where he figured the kitchen was. When they made it to the kitchen Phil let Clint go and pulled out a chair for the younger man. "Sit." Clint sat, which was a good trait for a future asset, but not a good sign as to Clint's mental state. "Tell me what's going on in your head Clint, I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Clint nodded again, agreeing with Phil's assessment but not moving to help rectify the problem. "Talk to me," Clint blinked and looked at Phil, eyes piercing into his soul.

"Did I- I'm a horrible brother, he's my brother and I-" Phil grabbed his shoulders, then wrapped Clint into a hug, just like Phil's big sisters used to when he was upset, just like they had when Phil's parents had died. Phil ran a hand up and down Clint's back as he sobbed and kept the other in his hair, just holding him while he broke down.

"You are not a horrible anything; you are brave, and smart and loyal and everything a big brother could ever ask of a younger brother; you hear me. You did nothing wrong, nothing." Phil continued speaking those words into Clint's hair as he help him close; he spoke of other things, things he would be afraid to admit to a jury of his peers. He told Clint how special he was, how amazing, how smart; maybe even how beautiful, but Phil's not really concentrating on what he's saying, he's more focused on how Clint is reacting. His shaking is subsiding and his sobs are lessening and Phil thinks that he's doing something right, when Clint loosens his grip on Phil's shirt Phil is surprised, because he hadn't realized that Clint was clinging to him.

"I'm sorry,"

"Never apologize for your tears any more than you would apologize for your laughter, they are both a part of you." Phil had been learning that lesson his whole life, was still learning it.

"Okay."

"Alright?"

"Yes." Clint let go and Phil stood and pulled out the chair next to Clint, he usually laid out recruitment in diners but this would be alright.

"Good, would you like to hear about SHIELD?"

"Who?"

"The organization that I work for." Clint nods and Phil talks. He explains what SHIELD does, who they hire, why they're needed. he explains some of the work that Clint would be doing, he can't gloss over it because recruits need the full picture before signing up.

"What if I can't?"

"Can't what?"

"Can't kill the bad guy? What if I freeze up and can't do it? Do you have to take me out? Erase my memory?" Phil chuckles and makes a mental note to get the Harry Potter books for Clint to read.

"No, we don't do that." They don't, so it's good that he doesn't have to lie, because Phil honestly doesn't think that he could ever lie to the person in front of him and the terrifying part is that he doesn't want to ever have to lie to him. "We would bring you home and talk, probably have you talk with a therapist and see where that takes us. Sometimes we can use people for clean-up, for helping others, sometimes we need people to observe and gather intel and sometimes people just aren't wired in way to work for us and with them we just have them sign a non-disclosure form so they won't talk about our organization and we let them leave and live a normal life. Usually we know how a person is going to react before we send them on a mission."

"You know I can't read all that well."

"You speak very well, and we can teach you anything you need to learn and want to learn. I think we even have a feng shui tutorial."

"You'll teach me?" Phil felt a pressure in his chest; this kid was going to make or break Phil, and Phil had a feeling that there would be a lot of both in his future.

"Maybe not me personally, but SHIELD will endeavour to teach you anything and everything you ever want to know." Clint's face fell slightly. "But I can certainly help with the reading." Clint's smile is tentative, and Phil loves the hope that he can see in Clint's eyes.

"So you'll read to me?" Phil smiled, yea he would teach this kid to read. He would teach him a lot more than that, if the feeling in his chest was anything to go by. 

"I'll teach you to read." Phil could still remember with such clarity that it could have been yesterday, his father giving him the talk. Phil can remember how nervous he had been, because hadn't told his parents that he'd always admired Captain America's backside in his comics, rather than the damsels’ ample bosoms. He can remember his father's laugh as Phil had stammered his way through his 'coming out' speech. Remembers his father's words: 'O son, you know your mom and I love you no matter what. Doesn't help matters that you have four sisters; it matters not now. It doesn't matter what the plumbing is, son; what matters is your happiness. I just want you to know that you can trust your instincts in regards to love; I remember when I first met your mom, I felt like my whole body was asleep and had started tingling awake. I want you to promise me, that when you find that feeling, you hold onto it with everything that you are.' Phil had nodded and his father had hugged him. Phil had been 14 at the time, he'd just finished highschool, and he was preparing for college applications.

A hand waved in front of his face, bringing Phil back to the present. And yea, being distracted like that; really not good in his line of work.

"Sorry?"

"There's someone at the door," Clint's eyes seemed to be mocking Phil, but his face had a tinge of worry to it. Phil heard the knocking and Phil stood quickly, he made his way to the door quickly; putting an arm out to stop Clint from stepping in front of him.

"Hello?" Phil called through the door.

"Damnit Cheese, open the fucking door. It's cold out here." Phil chuckled and opened the door, revealing Jasper Sitwell and a team of four others. "Fucking finally, out of my way. Seriously I've been out here for ages." The team pushed through the door, shoving Phil out of the way. Clint made a noise of protest at Phil's treatment, but Phil wrapped a hand around Clint's wrist and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright Clint, Jasper's just pissed that I caught up with you so soon; he had a pool and his date isn't for another week."

"Shut it Cheese, you cheated."

"Sure I did, look. I need you to get Barton to HQ and into interrogation; someone is going to need to take the car back and I'm going to need a chopper."

"Budget cuts Phil," and yea, that was annoying.

"Fine I'll take the car to the airport, we'll fly to DC, I'm going to need a child's seat."

"Copy that," Sitwell looked over Phil's shoulder at Clint. "Come on then, let’s go." Phil felt Clint tense and yea, no; Phil wasn't about to let Clint out of his sight.

"Not this Barton, the other one, on the floor over there." Jasper gave him a stink eye then went to have a look at the older Barton drooling on the floor.

"Pick him up guys, let's go. Cheese is being protective." And yea, Phil knew that he wouldn't be living this down any time soon.

"See you at HQ Jasp, it'd be best to not let that one speak."

"Roger."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clint wasn't sure what to make of Phil Coulson, hell he wasn't even sure what to make of himself at this point. He had seen Coulson take out Barney; who was bigger and stronger in appearance. He'd seen Coulson wield a gun like an extension of himself; yet Clint had never felt safer than he had when he'd been wrapped in the other man's arms, and that was something that Clint didn't understand.

Clint watched as Jasper and his team carried his brother out of Trudy's house, as they carried him out of Clint's life, and all Clint could feel was relief.

"Why are we going to the airport?"

"Need to get to headquarters, I need to find out how compromised SHIELD is because of your brother and Smith." Coulson turned to look at him, and Clint knew that he would trust this man for the rest of his life. "I also need to get you debriefed, and Trudy too. We need to get Frank assessed by Professor Xavier, and-" Clint doesn't think he could ever explain how his lips ended up on Coulson's, but that's what happened so he went with it. Coulson's grip on his wrist tightened and pulled him closer, his lips opened for Clint and god the man tasted good. Clint was immediately addicted. He heard the gun drop onto the table next to the door, then he felt Coulson's hand mold itself to the back of his head; Clint moaned and pushed Coulson up against the wall, slotting a leg between Coulson's thighs and yea Coulson wants this as much as Clint.

"Gentleman," Clint pulled away so fast that the rush of air between him and Coulson (Phil, Phil Phil!!) that Clint shivered. He turned, his face bright red, to see Trudy standing in the kitchen entrance. She was watching them with a glint in her eye that Clint couldn't quite grasp. "I've put the leftover casserole in the oven, Clint I'd like to have a chat with Agent Coulson so if you could go and get your things packed, and maybe collect Frank's things."

"Okay," Clint tried to walk away, but was stopped short by Coulson's hand around his wrist. Clint looks at him, and Coulson blinks a few times and then looks at his hand around Clint's wrist, Clint feels his fingers twitch, almost like he didn't realize he'd still had a hold of Clint.

"Sorry, I-" Coulson let go of Clint, and yea they were going to be exploring that more later. 

"Don't kill him please," Clint said to Trudy as he walked past her on his way to 'his' room.

"Promise kiddo, just need to sort out logistics." Her tone was reassuring, but Clint couldn't help but feel like she wasn't being entirely honest with him.

He made his way upstairs to pack his things.

~*~

He can't quite believe how much stuff he's accumulated over the week he's been with Trudy; she had bought him a pair of jeans and sweats and some shirts, she'd bought him enough clothing to completely fill the backpack that Clint had used to carry Frank. She's bought him a new backpack, minus the leg holes; and she had bought him a collection of books that he couldn't fathom leaving behind. For the first time in his life he had stuff, stuff that he couldn't carry, it was weird. Clint set everything out on the bed, trying to figure out how to pack. He’d left the door open, so that he could hear if Frank needed him. Voices floated up the stairs from the kitchen, and Clint knew; he knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he couldn’t help himself.

“What are you going to do with him?” That was Trudy, her tone was almost accusatory.

“What do you mean?”  
“Are you going to make him kill people? Make him be your spy, entice him with romance and then throw him out for the world to take advantage of?” Clint was offended on Coulson’s behalf, he wanted to argue with Trudy that he wouldn’t do that; but he was curious as to Coulson’s response, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Ma’am,” Coulson’s voice was steady and calm, and it sent shivers down Clint’s spine, it was a dangerous voice. “With all due respect, you know nothing about me. Clinton Barton is an ideal candidate for a SHIELD agent; he is intelligent, insightful and would be an invaluable addition to our team. He thinks faster than many agents who currently serve under me, he sees things that no one else can see. I have been chasing him for 407 days, 18 hours and 39 minutes; I have never invested that much time on any other recruit in my time at SHIELD. I assure you ma’am, my motivation for recruiting him is purely professional.”

“What I just saw, was anything but professional agent Coulson.” Clint had never had anyone stand up for him like that before, it was nice. Clint hoped that he would be able to keep in touch with her once he worked for SHIELD; because he would be working for SHIELD, no question.

“Ma’am, surely you can’t have missed how attractive Clint is; I admit I feel some very unprofessional thoughts towards him. You have my word though; I would, will, never ask anything of him that I would not ask of myself.”

“That’s what worries me young man; you strike me as someone who demands an awful lot of himself.” Clint found himself agreeing with Trudy’s assessment of the agent, from what he’s seen he doubts that there is anything the young man would not do to accomplish his goals.

“You’re right; I do demand a lot of myself. I demand that I bring my entire team home; that they are of sound mind and body after every mission, that I am able to discern the truth from a lie. I also feel like I should let you know that I did not initiate that unprofessional display that you saw just now, but in the interest of full disclosure I am a more than willing participant.” Clint didn’t know how, but he knew that Coulson was telling the truth. He knew in his bones that the agent downstairs would never leave a man or woman behind if there was anything he could do about it.

“Well then son, I guess that I am just going to have to come with you.” Clint nearly jumped for joy; he couldn’t imagine not having Trudy around him; even though he’d only just met her a week ago. Clint dropped onto the bed, he could not believe how much his life had changed, how quickly he was trusting these two people how much he couldn’t bear the thought of letting little Frank leave his side.

“Of course, I would expect nothing less from you ma’am.”

“Stop it with that ma’am malarkey. My name is Trudy, you’d best be getting used to calling me that.”

“Yes ma’- Trudy.” Clint chuckled softly to himself, he could definitely get used to being around these two people; hopefully for the rest of his life. A terrifying thought, but something he was ready to face.

“Trudy,”

“Yes son?”

“My name is Phil,” Trudy’s laugh echoed up the stairs. “And SHIELD will be giving Cli-Barton a housing allowance; I am sure that you will find something suitable for the three of you.”

“The three of us?”

“It seems obvious to me that young Frank is quite attached to Clint, and that Clint is very much attached to you. I would not dare separate you; after the assessment for Frank I am quite certain that Professor Xavier will be more than happy to educate you in the care for a gifted young child.” Yeah, Clint was going to be making himself am irreplaceable presence in Phil’s life, whether it be a professional presence or a very much unprofessional presence. 

“Quite right you are, would you care for tea? Clint! Stop dropping the eaves, and get down here for tea, and dinner!” Clint smiled and stood, his life was going to be so different; and yea he would have difficulties adjusting, but he would be able to handle it. He felt like he could handle anything.

“Coming!”

His life would never be the same, he was looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp I finished the first part.  
> It was a little disjointed I think, I don't know; let me know what you think ^_^  
> I hope to continue the series, I have the next part started. So I hope to have it up soon, hopefully much sooner than this chapter was posted.

**Author's Note:**

> It was nagging at me. So I wrote it down. More to come, soon I promise.  
> Title from 'We are Young' -FUN


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